


Brand New World

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Homeward Bound [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alpha Scott, And then it all falls apart, Angst, Detective Stiles, Feels, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Sciles, Self Harm, Teen Wolf AU, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles helps Scott through the next stage of his lycanthrope rehabilitation to help him keep control, but the past is hard to shake. And it started off as such a nice afternoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brand New World

Being outside was not supposed to be this distracting.

It had been an exercise of sorts, one they’d passed with flying colors, if Stiles said so himself. It seemed simple enough, on the surface. They’d been asked to get lunch, scheduled for a time when the dishes were just coming out and the hospital cafeteria was mostly deserted. It was easy to pretend that all the orderlies were there on their break.  At least they didn’t have to actually eat there.

Over a tray of surprisingly edible mac’n’cheese and the worst cookies he’d ever had the displeasure of putting in his mouth, Stiles nudged Scott, trying to catch his attention. Stiles had lead him to one of the less popular gardens, where the scent of other weres lingered but weren’t potent enough to be recent. There didn’t appear to be anyone around, but the nature of Eichen House was that its staff was never far, not really. Such was the benefit of hiring those with superhuman speed.

"Better than school…" He commented, and Stiles pretended not to notice how his voice hitched.

The assignment had been interesting, but their session with Dr. Tate taken the cake. She laid out Scott’s options with a bluntness that was disarming, and Stiles wondered if Scott was shocked. He questioned if he should have been. Who else would it have been but Stiles? Who else would offer him a place after all this, after he was cleared to leave?

"It’s um - edible."

___

It had been a long time since he’d been outside and the smell of everything all at once was almost overwhelming. He could swear he could almost scent the sunlight, though he never remembered it being this bright before.  And there were sounds too, rustling breezes and humming insects and living things that pulled his attention away from the human beside him.

The nudge brought him back and he smiled. “Dude, eating a brick would be better than school. You’d probably break fewer teeth that way too. Edible is good, I can do edible.” Scott felt hyperaware, knowing this was some kind of test and trying to be so careful to play by the rules. He had to prove he wasn’t just an animal, that there was still something that could actually pass for human in him and they’d let him out.

They’d let him have Stiles. He’d do anything for that and it terrified him to think his friend might someday find out how inhuman he’d really become.

He didn’t want to be anywhere else but with Stiles. He didn’t have a home, at least not one that didn’t have a heartbeat and a smile, but his options for rehabilitation rested heavily on his friend and that wasn’t fair. Scott couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t lose it, Stiles shouldn’t have to pay the price for his mistakes. What if it cost him everything?

Scott rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to focus on anything but the things he could smell. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I’ll shed all over the place and get up on the couch sometimes.”

___

Stiles snorted, scoffing with feigned distaste, “Not doin’ that again.”

Technically, it had been a rock, and they’d been convinced, completely convinced that it was actually the Sorcerer’s Stone. Of course, the Sorcerer’s Stone was supposed to increase libido, cure bad haircuts, and make everything taste like grilled cheese. Stiles lost the last of his baby teeth that day. The Sheriff and Melissa took away their phone privileges that weekend; they’d probably regretted it. Stiles remembered being very vocal about it.

 He couldn’t keep his features from softening at the question. Part of him wished he was only reading into its weight, cop paranoia and all that. Cop paranoia had to step up its game if it wanted to get on Stiles’ level.

“‘Course, dude.” He sidled up to Scott so he could snake an arm around waist, and press his face into his werewolf’s shoulder. It made it easier to steal his fries, too. Were-sized portions were kind of amazing. “You’re house-trained and respond to belly rubs.” He scratched at said stomach just to prove it. “It’ll be cake.”

Nipping lightly at Scott’s throat, he hesitated for the barest of moments, before reminding, “This offer doesn’t have an expiry date. No limited time only or seasonal discounts, Scotty.”

Stiles hated working with deadlines. That would surprise no one. He wasn’t going to rush Scott. It was no secret that if Scott was pronounced good to go in the next five minutes, Stiles would be dragging him out of there by the sixth one. But he knew how to wait when it was worth it. 

Scott was worth it.

___

“Whose fault was that?” Scott rolled his eyes, fully aware that he’d been the one who convinced Stiles to go for it. That’s what he got for reading all those fantasy books Stiles had loaned him, so  _technically_  he wasn’t really the one to blame. Those ‘No Stiles’ punishments were the worst, though it never seemed to really stop them from getting into trouble. A few smuggled walkie talkies did the trick, though there was that one time they tried to learn semaphore and signal each other from a distance. All Scott remembered was how to wave ‘go fuck yourself’ with the flags, which had seemed really hilarious at the time.

Good to know he still remembered all the most important skills.

Scott immediately relaxed into the touch, leaning against Stiles’s body and nuzzling his cheek against the human’s head. It was thoughtless and instinctual, reacting without conscious choice as all his scattered attention was suddenly focused on the man beside him. He squirmed at the hand across his stomach, shooting Stiles a scowl and not willing to admit how close to the truth the joke actually came. “Speaking of cake, you make a move for my lunch again and you’ll end up losing a finger or two, bro.”

He pulled away and settled himself on the grass, more comfortable on the ground than on a bench or at a table. Giving a quick suspicious look around to make sure there was no one watching besides Stiles, he flopped onto his back and stretched until his shirt rode up and his joints cracked, grinning at the feeling of cool grass prickling his skin.

“How long do you think it’s going to take? I know they’re trying to help and all, but getting out of this place just keeps sounding better and better. What do I have to do to convince them I’m okay?”

___

“Only if you catch me." Stiles squinted, before leaning over and not-so-subtly grabbing two more fries. He would like to thank John and Claudia Stilinski for convincing him that hiding behind pillars and magazines granted him invisibility. There was only so much damage that the Academy could repair. 

Still, it was probably the only reason the Stilinski household was still standing. Take that time he and Scott decided that smoke signals would be a reasonable and subtle form of communication, and all the matches and lighters disappeared from both their houses (“I’d just like to be wrong for once,” Melissa had mourned, tucking away anything that could possibly make a spark). It hadn’t actually stopped them - Scott’s asthma did that - but it slowed things down long enough for them to be distracted by how their favorite pizza-scarfing reptiles breathed through their butts.

He stilled when Scott pulled away, only for his eyes to fall on the teasing slip of tanned skin like they’d been magnetized. Pavlov’s dogs could relate. Pavlov’s dogs couldn’t do this.

He draped himself over Scott without asking, dropping a smacking kiss to an insufferably handsome mouth, grinning down at him like he’d hung the moon and lit the stars. Then he squirmed down Scott’s chest to blow a raspberry into his stomach. So worth it.

He clung to it while his mind insisted on recalling the security meetings he’d endured while learning Eichen House’s layout. Someone may have been listening, and Stiles’ butt was already on the web probably, but still. They shouldn’t have been asking these questions.

It was impossible not to.

"Prob’ly stop bringing up how much you want to leave. It didn’t work in detention…" A correctional exercise meant to teach life values that was bogged down by politics and human error - Stiles didn’t compare that to here. He tried not to, at least. His tone was airy despite everything. "You were tense at the cafeteria…"

___

Scott yelped and flailed, no trace of any werewolf grace or agility as he curled to protect his vulnerable stomach, laughing so hard it hurt. He pinched Stiles hard in the side, bowling the human over and pinning him down. “You are lucky I like you, dude!” He grinned, offering the ultimate sign of true love and stuffing one of his own french fries into his friend’s face.

“Most of the time I was in detention, it was your fault, you know. Okay, maybe like 60-40 your fault.” Scott settled on top of Stiles with no intention of moving or allowing him a more comfortable position, calmly picking at his lunch. Actually, it really wasn’t all that bad considering some of the things he’d eaten over the years. Peter always made sure they ate well at least, healthy pets were more valuable than sick ones and staying fighting fit was important. They were only starved when there was some kind of point Peter had wanted to make, ramping up the desperate aggression and violence for his own entertainment.

He didn’t say anything, focused on the food and the darting movements of sparrows fluttering in the bushes nearby. If he was going to get out of here any time soon, he needed to play by the rules and at least appear like he was completely in control, safe around other weres and not a threat to humans. The others caused his hackles to rise, their very existence a challenge and the animal inside was snarling for a chance to respond. This place was new, these people unknown, it was instinct to try and establish his dominance. It took more concentration than it should to hold the feelings back and smile like everything was fine. He knew all about performing, if they needed a show, he’d give them what they wanted. Survival meant surrendering sometimes and Scott could be patient.

The wolf shrugged one shoulder casually. “It’s just different. It’s weird to smell so many of them, I’ve never seen that many people like me in one place before. It’s okay though, I’m fine. Doesn’t bother me at all.”

___

"Y’wuff me!" Stiles cooed around a mouthful of fries, taking his dear sweet time to chew until a ball of mush weighed his tongue down. "70-30," he amended with pride, before slinging his arm over Scott’s shoulders. He tugged at his werewolf’s shirt until he could rest his other arm across the bare skin of Scott’s lower back. Stiles wanted to taste his laughter. He was still savoring his fries.

Buying himself time was just the other side of that coin. He leaned forward so he could ghost a smile over Scott’s lips, their noses bumping clumsily. Stiles could get used to that. Stiles wanted to get used to that. He shouldn’t have started this conversation, not in a place that had made Scott light up so much, somewhere that almost seemed private.

"You wuff me, so I call bullshit." He dropped, tone teasing though his words weren’t. The realization came swiftly and with remorse. He didn’t know Scott well enough to know if he was lying, not anymore. Years in captivity, years he’d survived - Stiles imagined someone like that would have learned how to lie convincingly.

'Someone like that' happened to be Scott. It made Stiles' chest hurt, just a little, but Scott's warmth blanketed him well enough to block it out. 

He was still going off of things he’d learned, on the job and through personal research - other people. Not Scott. He held on tighter. “Beacon Hills has a lot of weres, dude… It’s something you’ll have to get used to.”

___

“Oh shut up.” Scott said affectionately, trying to ignore the beautiful laughing human in favor of food, but it was almost impossible. A testament to Stiles’s power of distraction. He nuzzled against his friend’s face, stuffing another fry into Stiles’s mouth. “Call it whatever you want, you dork.”

An entire town full of weres just…out in public. Supposedly safe and living normal lives like they were actually human. For all he wanted it to be true, there was a slight bitterness to the thought. They  _weren’t_  human, it was almost a joke to try and pretend. He’d spent years on the run, he’d lost everything because his mom had tried to keep him safe from those who’d never give weres a chance to be human and what had it gotten him? Run to ground, his mother murdered and years on a leash. There were people who really thought they could make it work without worrying about hunters or poachers or good old fashioned hate?

And how did they all deny the fact that they were monsters right below the skin?

Scott kept the rage contained and a smile on his lips. He could do this, as difficult as it was, anything not to see disappointment, disgust or worse, fear on Stiles’s face. “It doesn’t sound so bad, I can handle it. I’m not going to just start picking fights with every random dude that wanders by, you know. I kind of freaked out when I got here at first, but I’ve got this under control. I promise you, Stiles.”

 _Liar_.

___

Stiles smacked a salty kiss to his werewolf’s cheek, chewing with a smug satisfaction that had taken years to perfect, motivated by McDonalds’ obviously drugged fries. Nothing else could account for how good they tasted. This was good, this was great. Scott outshone the sun and against the backdrop of a blue sky, it looked like he replaced it entirely. Stiles gave in to the urge to brush back his hair, only to have it fall back into place. So he did it again, and again, and stole more fries because that was their love letter. Stiles wanted to write a whole lot more.

"I’m not the one you have to convince," he mourned, and his tone was easy. It undermined how heavy his heart felt, a growing mass in his rib cage that threatened to expand so much it broke. He hated to admit that it was the good thing. All he wanted now was to take Scott home and press him into his bed, make up all the years they’d missed and then some. 

That wasn’t right. It was a foreign concept, not to trust Scott, and he couldn’t do it. That didn’t discount from the fact that he was possibly a threat to the public. That didn’t discount from the fact that he could hurt himself.

"It’s okay, y’know," he mumbled, brushing their noses together. He wanted to feel Scott against his skin, all over, everywhere, even as he was pretty sure that an ant colony was crawling up his butt. They were close enough that he could feel Scott’s lashes against his cheek, and Scott’s mouth would feel good, so good. Not yet. "If you’re not okay… I mean, it’s not okay, but we can figure things out. We’ll make it okay. And - I swear this sounded better in my head." 

___

He gave into the urge, pressing his lips to Stiles and licking the salt from his mouth. It was hard to think about anything else with the sun warm on his back and his best friend beneath him. If this was another test of his control, it was a cruel one and one he wasn’t sure he even wanted to pass. Scott couldn’t get enough, he wasn’t sure he ever would. It wasn’t just that shiny glow of new love, there was nothing about this that was new. Okay, maybe the whole touching dicks thing was new, but it didn’t  _feel_  new. It just was something that should have been there all along sliding back into place. Familiar and way too easy.

With an exaggerated sigh, he rolled off of his captive human and settled himself down to eat. He hoped whoever was watching, and he was pretty sure after their last ‘enthusiastic’ exploits there were probably quite a few eyes watching now, appreciated the effort it took to behave. As much as he wanted to fuck Stiles into the grass and see how he looked stripped bare in bright sunlight, that wouldn’t do much for his credibility. Geez, he really was acting like a hormonal fifteen year old again, he needed to get a grip.

“I  _am_  fine, Stiles.” Scott rolled his eyes, trying to sound like his control wasn’t in question. “Everything’s okay. I’ve got this, I promise. I was just a little out of it the first time because I didn’t know where I was, but I’m okay. I can follow the rules, no problem.”  _Hope you caught that, Doc. Good little dog, totally harmless. No threat here._  He just had to be patient, though the thought of just tearing through all of them to freedom was always there in the back of his mind. Bad ideas that shouldn’t be considered. This was going to work, Stiles was going to help him. They were going to make it through.

But he was never going to be human again. That much was a lie, did Stiles even know it or did he just see that kid from all those years ago?

___

Stiles looked positively affronted at being let go, and all at once, he was scrambling on top of Scott, like they were trying to figure out who got the last slice of pizza, and sharing was not an option. He pawed at Scott’s fries, and his face, and his neck, and kissed across his shoulder, distracted because Scott’s legs were tangled between his, and he was laughing so much he was pretty sure he swallowed a grasshopper.

Stiles smack Scott on the ass because he could. And it was too easy to give in to this. 

He was worried, really, but it was far away and distant, like the rest of the world seemed to be when Scott looked at him just like that. When Scott kissed him. Being ‘okay’ after what they’d found him in wasn’t normal. Scott should have been the furthest thing from ‘okay,’ whatever that meant.

Scott felt like he’d stepped out of memories that were over a decade old, and nothing had changed, and Stiles would do so much to believe that nothing had. 

He nipped at Scott’s ear again, kissing down his throat carefully, a dash of new sprinkled into the sweetest nostalgia. He wanted to map every inch of Scott’s body until he knew how to pull him apart and piece him back together. 

"I’m not fine," he added at length, and his voice hitched, but he only wanted Scott to hear it. "That place - it fucked me up, dude. I can’t - imagine…"

But he could, and he did, and when Stiles shivered, they were close enough that Scott would feel it, too.

___

It was impossible to resist, laughing like nothing else in the world mattered and hands distracting him from every worry that ever weighed him down. Scott squirmed and yelped, trying to gain the advantage as his fingers found their way beneath Stiles’s shirt. “Stoooop!! This is not fair, Stiles!” He stressed the name into two syllables, trying to escape but not really trying. “I’m trying to be good, dude.”

Scott wrapped his body around the human, pressing wet kisses into the curve of his neck. He cupped Stiles’s face in both of his hands, searching his face with earnest brown eyes. “It’s okay. Don’t imagine, don’t think about it. It’s over, that’s the only thing that matters.” He leaned in for a swift, chaste kiss.

“It wasn’t as bad as it looked.” The wolf tried to reassure him, inadvertently sharing more than he would have wanted to admit in his rush to keep the worry from Stiles’s face. “It wasn’t always terrible, I promise. I didn’t mind it sometimes, I’m okay. Please don’t worry, please?”

Scott didn’t want that place to touch any part of Stiles, he shouldn’t have seen it. He already knew too much, the wolf wished he could just erase it from his memories and hide it away forever. It had taken so much from him, twisted it until it was unrecognizable, it wouldn’t take his best friend too.  _Lie, keep lying. Lie until he believes._  “Don’t go back to that place, dude. Whatever happened there is in the past and I’m okay. I am, just trust me. We don’t ever have to think about it again.”

___

Stiles was a big fan of ignoring problems until they went away. He wrote songs about, had dance routines. Hakuna Matata had nothing on him. There was a pile of unsolved cases rotting on his desk that attested to that, cases that didn’t involve young, dark-haired wolves and couldn’t pique his interest, for all that he went through the motions with them, did what was required but not much more. He knew he was selfish. He knew he wasn’t a bad guy, but he wasn’t a hero either.

Scott had always made him want to be more. Scott had always made him more. There was nothing right about this, and Stiles didn’t know if he wanted to scream or cry. He was still breathless, like his laughter hadn’t had the chance to leave. 

His grip tightened around Scott’s frame, warm grass prickling against his skin. What came out was all wrong. It didn’t matter what it sounded like. “You didn’t mind it?”

___

Every muscle tensed and the wolf froze, deadly still and barely breathing. He couldn’t explain this to Stiles, his friend never needed to know about what happened to him. Years and years of being groomed and trained and kicked until he accepted his role as a pet. There was only so much a man could take before they broke and though he tried to keep finding small ways to resist, but it had been easier to just give in. It hurt less and Peter knew how to wield pain and reward until he’d begged for it.

There were times when he didn’t fight it at all. There were times when he wanted it, preening under the attention, craving it because it could feel so good. He did what he had to do to survive, but the guilt and shame of it twisted sick in his stomach. There were times he would have torn Peter apart and felt nothing but relief…and there were times he would have defended the Hale to his death, loyal and obedient.

“Don’t – Don’t ask me that, Stiles.” Scott forced himself to sound casual, brushing it off like it meant nothing. “None of that matters anymore, it’s over and I’m  _fine_. Don’t worry about me anymore.”

___

Something flitted across Scott’s features, so quick that Stiles could’ve blinked to miss it. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew what conclusion he jumped to. He didn’t want Scott afraid of him. He didn’t want Scott to ever associate him with Peter. 

He cupped Scott’s cheek, urging him closer until he could rest his forehead against his partner’s. Stiles closed his eyes and pretended he didn’t know any better. This was the sort of conversation a trained psychiatrist was supposed to have. This was the sort of thing that, if Scott hadn’t disappeared, if Scott had remained by his side as his best friend and boyfriend and lover and partner, he would try to hide as an aspect of his job.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked. They’d taught each other how to lie. They’d sharpened their skills side-by-side and took the world by storm, and now, Stiles hated having to second-guess his best friend. It would be so easy not to. "Would you stop me if you didn’t want to?"

___

Fingers twisted into Stiles’s hair just a touch too hard, crushing their mouths together like new memories could rewrite the old. He looked human, he sounded human, but the strength inside of him was raw inhuman fury. He was strong enough to crush bone and snap the spine, but his hands gentled, always controlled when he touched his human and taking care never to hurt him.

“I love you, Stiles. I want this, you have to trust me. Just let it go, please let it go.”

He couldn’t…he just couldn’t. Scott pulled away, struggling to keep his expression blank and curling his hands into fists. “I’m sorry.” There was more he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to even start. How could you begin to explain it all?

Claws dug deep into his palms, blood welling beneath his fingertips and slowly sliding down his hand to drip from his knuckles into the grass. He didn’t react, as if he didn’t even notice the wounds as he used the pain to help control his chaotic emotions and anchor himself. “I’m fine. Whatever happened there is not something you want to know about. Let’s just forget about it and focus on something else, okay?”

___

 

Stiles fell into the kiss because he wanted to, sighing into soft lips and careful touches.  _Convince me,_  he pleaded. He let Scott take and take and take because part of him wanted to dig into the werewolf with frustration and desperation that he didn’t deserve. He was going to spirit Scott away, to his home, to his bed and keep him from the rest of the world, safe and happy. 

There was a hitch in Scott’s voice that Stiles would have missed if he wasn’t looking for it. Once upon a time, it would have warned of tears no one was supposed to see, but Peter Hale was no schoolyard bully, and they had stopped being children long ago. Then he was rolling to his side, trying to keep up with the other man, and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was being outpaced in this race.

"Scott." Stiles began, reaching out, ideas half-formed at best. "Jesus fucking CHRIST-"

They slipped through his grasp in an instant. Scott’s arms were trembling. Nothing else mattered but making him stop. He was by his werewolf’s side in an instant, palms running down Scott’s forearms, guiding them to his hands. He couldn’t move Scott if he didn’t want to be moved. He couldn’t force Scott to do anything, but Stiles tried. His fingers curled over Scott’s knuckles, trying to slip into the spaces between his claws and his palms as black blood coated his skin.

"Let go!" He snapped, and he was pulling Scott closer, forcing him into an embrace neither one of them could manage, but if Scott ever needed someone to hold him up, it was now. 

___

A growl slipped between his lips, hands tightening and shredding tendons in his palms. It would heal, it always healed. A thousand scars that should have crisscrossed his body lost beneath flawless skin that refused to keep record of the wounds. It would have been better if they did stay, at least he’d be able to prove to himself that he’d at least tried to fight.

“Stop. Stiles, Stop!” He felt like he was being held down and restrained, panic rising and breathing hard. The wolf shoved his friend away with more force than he meant, leaving bloody hand prints smeared across his shirt. He scrambled back, eyes flickering and change shifting his features into something feral.

Oh god, stop. Stop, stop, stop. Scott’s body shook, muscles cording as he tried to fight for control but even the pain wasn’t anchoring him like it should. There was too much turmoil, too many memories of Peter and submission and being so happy when his master was pleased with him. Too much guilt and rage to keep it contained. He was vaguely aware that this was going to destroy his chances to prove he was safe enough to get out of this place and that he was losing his chance to keep Stiles but coherence had no place in the instinct of a cornered animal.

He held out his ruined hand, trying to keep the human from getting too close. “You have to get away from me!  _GET BACK!”_

___

Stiles took a tumble, but he was scrambling to his feet before he could properly register that he had fallen. The sharp stench of blood made him give pause when every cell in his body was demanding he speed up. Scott was backing away. Scott looked utterly terrified. Something was tearing him apart or maybe, he was trying to tear himself apart.

"Scott-" He ignored the outstretched hand, but he couldn’t ignore the tremors that wracked Scott’s spine, the crack of breaking and mending bone, or the ragged growl in his partner’s voice. In his line of work, he’d seen dozens of shapeshifters change. Some were in complete control of themselves, but most were forced into it. Nothing could compare to this. It was Scott, and Stiles was horrified for him.

He circled him slowly, for once unsure if he should approach. ”Scott - Scott listen to me,” he insisted, licking his lips because he’d never talked down a were unarmed. He’d never done it without silver chain mail over his bullet-proof vest. He’d never cared so much about someone hurting themselves.

He held up hands that wouldn’t have been threatening even if he wanted them to be. “You’re in control, man. You said that. It’s me. It’s just me. It’s Stiles, and you’re Scott and I was stealing all your fries and that’s all we hafta worry about now. Just look at me. Okay? Please look at me, Scott.”

One lunge, and Scott could kill him. Stiles understood. But he knew Scott wouldn’t.

"I need you to look at me."

___

It hurt, body fighting against its nature and its shape to twist into something else. No matter how many times it happened, it was felt like every bone in his body splintered under the force. He backed away, trying to put distance between himself and the human, but Stiles wouldn’t just run.  _WHY_  wouldn’t he just run?!

Fight or flight kicked in and there was nowhere to run, rage surging through his veins as he could hear the sound of others coming to stop him. To tie him down and hurt him again. He wasn’t as big as other wolves, but he was fast and every line cut with hard muscle. What he lacked in size, he made up for in a ruthless cunning honed razor sharp in captivity. His mind switched into survival mode and humanity slipped away and red eyes darting across the garden looking for the best defensive position. 

Scott snapped at Stiles, his own claws curled but his hands still too much of a ruined mess to be much good in a fight until they healed. The footsteps drew closer, the hospital staff trained to deal with this kind of situation and yelling orders at each other that enraged the beast. Flinging bloody hands out wide, he howled at the top of his lungs, trying to tear their animals from their human shapes and face his enemies before he ripped out their throats with his fangs.

The human’s voice was distracting and he turned his head slightly, glaring hatefully through eyes that held no sign of recognition before flicking back up to the orderlies that approached warily to try and restrain him. He snapped his fangs at Stiles again, using him as leverage and warning the hospital staff to stay back or he’d leave this human in shredded pieces.

___

He couldn’t say when it happened, but there was a shift in something in the air, as quick as it took for a spark to set a forest ablaze. Stiles realized too late that he was on the wrong side of a bad situation, and he was trying to put as much distance between himself and Scott as fast as his feet could carry him. A snarl warned him in place before he could get too far.

A ripple seemed to pass through the group before them, already positioned in a well-practiced formation. All at once, a sea of blue eyes were locked on them. The park was alive with noise, and it would have been one of the most amazing things Stiles had ever witnessed if he wasn’t so occupied with the matter of his survival.

"Scott." His voice caught in his throat, a strangled thing, and there was so much blood on his clothes. Scott wouldn’t hurt him, not willingly, not if he could help it,  _not ever_. 

Stiles hadn’t been this nervous since his first year on the job. 

He didn’t see the signal the orderlies used. He couldn’t focus on anything other than what had taken over his best friend. But in unison, the group lunged. Stiles couldn’t move fast enough, and this was an emergency if there ever was. He snapped out the carefully packed satchel on the inside of his jeans, a precaution he didn’t expect to use. With a practice gesture, he tossed the handful of sand into the air, and when it settled, he and Scott were trapped in a ring of ash. 

The first orderly who would have reached them bounced right off the invisible barrier. It still couldn’t stop the tranquilizer flew out of the trees downwind of the battle. The werewolf had responded to the call of an Alpha, but her arm was steady when she fired. 

___

Scott had dismissed the human, attention focused on the weres that stalked around him. Some part of his mind realized there were too many to fight alone, but he refused to back down from his challenging stance. Rage and fear drove his instincts, no room left for rational thought. The wolf braced himself as his enemies lunged, crouched low and snarling, ready to meet them with tooth and claw. The sudden flash of the barrier confused him and he startled back from where the orderly had met the unseen force.

The dart hit him in the arm and the wolf growled at the sudden pain and surprise of the needle burying itself into his flesh.  He pulled it free and flung it away, but the drugs had already started to filter through his veins, leaving him disoriented. Scott scrambled for his only advantage, wrapping bloody claws around Stiles’s throat and hauling the human close as a shield as he retreated, back against the barrier that he couldn’t break through.

He had to get out, escape the only coherent thought left as he Scott felt his limbs grow heavy. There had to be a way out, there had to be some way to get to safety. The beast huffed, using Stiles as protection between him and his enemies. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter, the human’s body would prevent any more attacks until he could figure out how to break free of this cage.

The scent of the human made him pause, instincts shifting as it caused something to flip in the animal’s brain, some inhuman part of himself screaming. _Mine_! There wasn’t enough Scott left in him to question it, accepting the sudden switch from survival to possessive protection. The wolf loosened his grip, shoving Stiles behind him as he faced down the werebeasts.  _MINE! You can’t have him!_  He staggered, exhausted and fighting the tranquilizer that tried to coax him into safe, quiet darkness. Not yet, he couldn’t stop fighting yet. If there was no way to reach his enemies with his fangs, then he would set them on each other. Scott howled again, a command for violence before dropping to his knees.

___

Stiles fell backward into soft grass, gasping for air and trying to blink the spots that prickled across his vision. His throat hurt like a rat’s ass, and his arm throbbed where he landed on it. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the flare of bright crimson, angry, vicious fangs bared in desperation. That wasn’t Scott. That was, but it couldn’t be. Scott was fine. Scott was there. Scott was _still_  there. They just had to - an ear-splitting howl tore the day apart, and all at once, every shapeshifter in the garden gave pause. Stiles wouldn’t close his eyes.

An answering howl echoed from somewhere within the institute, and the most senior member of the group cursed. Fine hairs still prickled across his features, and he was supporting one of the most aggressive set of sideburns Stiles had ever seen. He noticed belatedly that one of the orderlies had to be restrained, but exceptional control had been a prerequisite for the position. She was being dragged towards the building, two of her colleagues already sprinting ahead of her and her support.

Stiles broke the mountain ash circle, unsure if it was for Scott’s benefit or his own, but it was easier to drag his werewolf into his arms that way. There was blood everywhere. Stiles thought he couldn’t even see Scott’s hands anymore. 

"Officer Stilinski, you’re going to have to return to your room." Someone ordered. It would take them the thread of sedation to get to comply, but eventually, he was waiting for access to Scott’s room again. This time, he wasn’t entitled to wait by his bedside. Dr. Tate was taking care of that. He’d be able to see Scott after her session with him - after he was introduced to his new privileges. 

Three fights had been reported in the same wing, all instigated by werecanines. 

It was never a dull day at Eichen House.

Scott couldn’t fight as he was pulled into Stiles’s arms, head swimming and rage extinguished from the drugs that left his body feeling numb and disconnected. He didn’t want to escape anymore, he just wanted to sleep curled against his human and he nuzzled against the bloodstained shirt. Someone was speaking, but it was just muted unintelligible noise that made no sense as Scott surrendered. His body went limp as he was dragged down into blackness.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing collaborative work/RP that has been fic-i-fied!
> 
> You can find Tmautog's awesome fics on [tumblr](http://tmautog.tumblr.com/tagged/writing) and keep up with this story [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune/TruebornAlpha [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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